


i'll hold you for a million years

by kaleidobubble



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, Lullabies, Married Life, Miles Morales Needs a Hug, about a decade-ish post-cannon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-02 21:48:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21168407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaleidobubble/pseuds/kaleidobubble
Summary: He gives and gives and gives, and on the days and nights when he finally has to pay for it, Gwen swore with all her heart, she'd be there to catch him.





	i'll hold you for a million years

A welcome heaviness is finally beginning to weigh atop Gwen’s eyelids, the cusp of sleep reaching out to quiet her mind, when the bed suddenly dips beneath her, springing her back to full consciousness.

She lifts her head and peers blearily over her husbands’ shoulder at the digital clock on their bedside table. The little neon blue digits glow back at her reading 3:47.

Gwen feels herself glaring at the time like it has no right to be as late as it is. Another minute ticks by. 3:48.

She drops her head back onto the pillow. The mattress dips again. And then again.

The young woman gives a little sigh and her eyes reflect something between sadness and defeat before gazing at the face curled up beside her.

In the dim lighting of their bedroom, she can make out his expression, tense and weary, even with his eyes closed. His brow creased in worry and a heavy frown pulls at the corners of his mouth.

They’ve had a long day. A long week really. Taking down a series of armed robberies across Brooklyn Heights and battling hordes of sentient robots on Coney Island back to back, late into the night, and still showing up on time for work bright and early the next morning, would take its toll on anyone.

And Gwen had allowed herself to hope that maybe the cumulative fatigue would catch up to Miles and be enough to wear him out so that tonight, he’d be out like a light before his head hit the pillow. 

But no such luck. His screwed shut eyes and forced, even breaths do nothing to convince her that he is anything remotely near asleep.

He’s trying to seem as though he is, but the tossing and turning was always his tell. He never was very good at keeping still. Gwen’s counted the sixth time he’d flipped over in the last three minutes. He’s doing it slowly, pushing up on one arm and slowly lowering into another position like a construction crane, trying so hard not to disturb her. 

And it only tugs at her heart all the more.

Rio often joked that as a child, Miles had enough energy in his little finger to power half of Brooklyn. She recalled with a mother’s fond, reminiscing smile, her little boy bouncing about the house like a pinball and chattering a mile a minute with anyone who’d listen since the day he’d learned to walk and talk. 

But after the spider bite, Miles soon found that this extra bit of energy had kicked up a couple hundred notches. He once described it as cacophany of little boom boxes constantly thrumming at full blast through his body and mind. 

Which was manageable, sometimes even useful, during the day given his ever-increasingly hectic schedule. Unfortunately, it also sometimes made falling asleep a hair’s breadth shy of impossible. 

Over the years he’d figured out how to keep it relatively under control through a number of breathing exercises, the occasional sleeping pill, and a general abstinence from caffeine. (Which was a lesson painfully learned the hard way and one of the many reasons Miles still favors hot chocolate over coffee.)

But sometimes, it still isn’t enough. On nights when he goes to bed with a little too much still weighing on his mind, it’s often hours before the parade of adrenaline banging about in his brain finally ceases, and graciously allows him an hour or two of rest. If it ever ceases at all.

_It's so unfair_ she thinks. So freaking unfair that things have to be like this. That their nights have to look like this. Gwen supposes that she should be used to it all by now. It’s been nearly a decade at this point. But that doesn't stop her heart from breaking each time she senses Miles curling a little tighter in on himself as if willing, _ begging_, his own mind to quiet down and _ just let them get some sleep. _

So the next time Gwen feels him beginning to turn, she reaches out to catch his hand. 

“Miles?” 

She curls her fingers around his, gentle but firm. After a moment, she feels him squeeze back but his eyes stay clamped shut. 

So she trails her hand up to his face, smoothing the pad of her thumb over his cheek. Finally, his honey-brown eyes open to meet hers, brimming with sorrow, bone-deep exhaustion, and earnest apologies he doesn’t need to be making.

Without missing a beat, Gwen opens her arms to him in a 'C’mere' gesture, beckoning him closer. He scoots forward, resting his forehead against her collarbone, wanting the closeness, but too tired, or perhaps a bit too embarrassed, to cling to her the way the twitch in his fingers gives away that he wants to.

So, she pulls him in the rest of the way, wrapping her arms around his back and holding him to her so that he's lying on his stomach, half draped over her, his heart pounding against hers.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” she whispers gently, smoothing a comforting hand through his hair.

Miles shakes his head. It’s all the same. Screaming and sirens and explosions. A whole world of pain. Bad guys new and old. His uncle, his parents, his friends, her. Some familiar faces, some of strangers. Some real and some crawling from the depths of his imagination. He doesn’t feel like running through it all again tonight.

Instead, Miles winds his arms around her middle, holding her impossibly close, and buries his face in the crook of her neck, his hair tickling her cheek.

“M'sorry,” he mutters against her skin.

Gwen touches a sweet, feather-light kiss to his forehead. "Nothing to be sorry about,” she replies, thinking back to all those times he’d held her while she shuddered and sobbed for a friend and a life lost so long ago. Someone whom another person in Miles' position might even have grown jealous of after a time. 

But Miles never did. He was always so understanding. And just full of so much good. It baffles her at times just how someone’s heart could be so big, so full of love for everyone and everything around them, without bursting from their chest.

Gwen could never see herself giving up her mask. Spider-Woman was a part of her, so deeply ingrained that giving her up would be like giving up a limb. And a part of her still took great joy in the thrill of it all. The swoop in her stomach with every swing, the triumph of a successful day’s work, the fun in quipping at bad guys, and now, waving to the cheering crowds all while the love of her life stood by her, doing it all with her. 

But she didn’t put on the mask every night out of love for the job. She did it out of necessity, out of responsibility, to honor a vow she’d made at a mere 14 years of age to do the right thing, whatever the costs. And she’d be lying if she said there weren’t days when she resented it for the nights of sleep it cost both her and Miles, be it with duty’s shrill siren call or with the nightmares and horrid, painful memories that kept them up at ungodly hours. 

Miles on the other hand, still put on the mask and leapt out into the New York skyline with the same vigor and zeal he had all those years ago, ready to defend his city like it’s what he was made to do. And it wasn’t out of naivety or lack of experience. Time had had its way with him just as it did with them all. 

But even after everything it's thrown his way, countless sleepless nights, near-death experiences and all, Miles still loves being Spiderman. Somehow, he's managed to find enough room in his heart to do so. 

He gives and gives and gives, and on the days and nights when he finally has to pay for it, Gwen swore with all her heart, she'd be there to catch him.

Miles nuzzles a little closer into her and suddenly, Gwen can recall a faint memory. One where the roles are reversed and she’s around four or five years old. Her little arms clinging to her mother for dear life after a nightmare left her too afraid to go back to sleep. Her tiny face buried in the older woman’s nightshirt as her mother strokes her hair, singing her favorite song softly in her ear. It was an old song as Gwen would later learn in school, with different, much more somber lyrics. But she always liked her mom's version best.

_ The other night dear as I lay sleeping _

_ I dreamt I lost you in the dark _

_ But then I woke, dear, and you were right here _

_ So I held you close and smiled _

_ You are my sunshine, my only sunshine _

_ You make me happy when skies are grey _

_ You'll never know dear, how much I love you _

_ Please don't take my sunshine away _

Gwen remembers how good it felt, how warm and protected she’d been in her mother’s arms. Like nothing could ever touch her through this little cloud of warmth and love that would protect her from all the monsters in the world. 

She remembers how her mothers’ honeyed voice soothed her frantic little heart, and how soon enough, she’d drifted back into her slumber. 

She wishes more than anything in that moment, that she could pull that feeling from her memories and wrap it around Miles and herself like a blanket. 

So maybe it's exhaustion induced delirium, maybe it's the ache in her heart because she can feel Miles' form still so tense and rigid in her arms, and likely a bit of both, but after a moment’s contemplation, Gwen decides that maybe it's worth a shot. If nothing else, maybe they could laugh a bit tonight.

She clears her throat lightly. She’s never been one to sing anywhere but the shower. Back in her days with Mary Janes, MJ was always the vocalist. But Gwen can carry a tune. And if by some chance it could help ease Miles' mind, she would. She brings her hand to the nape of his neck, lightly running her fingers through his hair, and begins to hum softly.

_ I’ll always love you and make you happy _

_ And nothing else will come between _

_ Because it’s you love, that keeps me going _

_ Together we'll build all our dreams _

She feels him slowly begin to relax beneath her touch, his body weight now nearly limp against her own. It’s almost a little overwhelming for Gwen, even after all this time, how readily Miles can put every ounce of his trust in her, how easily he'll set his guard down and slip into a place of such vulnerability without a second thought, as if even the notion that she could ever possibly hurt him was an entirely alien concept.

Sometimes she still wonders if she deserves so much of someone's faith, but Miles has always trusted her, so she's decided that she can learn to trust herself too.

Gwen lowers her hand, her fingertips dancing on his skin, tracing the words onto his shoulder as if hoping to make them a part of him. Something to ground them both, to make it real, and for him to carry with him to chase away bad days.

_ You are my sunshine, my only sunshine _

_ You make me happy when skies are grey _

_ You'll never know dear, how much I love you _

_ Please don't take my sunshine away _

The song reaches its end and Gwen feels a pleasant little laugh reverberate in Miles' chest and his smile against her skin. His lips brush her neck in a whispered “Thank you,” before her sunshine finally sets for the night.

She waits until she can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against her own, and then she lets her eyes flutter shut, drifting off to join him.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so very much for reading and please leave a comment if you're feeling up to it. Hearing from readers always makes me smile. Constructive criticism is always appreciated at well. I hope have lovely day!
> 
> Title is from Make you feel my love by Bob Dylan


End file.
